


The Lovely Bones of Stiles Stilinski

by ItzIzziieMonsta



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
Genre: Angst, Don't read if you get easily upset, F/M, I'm so sorry but I had to do it, RIP Stiles, Stiles Stilinski Dies, Stiles Stilinski goes to Heaven, Stiles is Not a Virgin, The Pack is good, graphic stuff, inspired by the lovely bones, relationships are background, the lovely bones inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:46:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItzIzziieMonsta/pseuds/ItzIzziieMonsta
Summary: My name is Stilinski, it's Polish and weird but original. First name: Stiles. I was 18 years old when I was murdered on December 6th, 2010.--After being brutally murdered, 18-year-old Stiles Stilinski watches from heaven over his grief-stricken pack and family -- and his killer. As he observes their daily lives, he must balance his thirst for revenge with his desire for his family and friends to heal.





	1. Eyes Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> As I say, just a warning. If you easily get upset by this stuff, please don't read this. This is not a happy story. Not until the very end. If you want that happy ending then stay to the very end. If you just don't like events like this (including; Rape [though I am not actually writing it] and murder) then please do not read this story. Go find something more fluffy. You don't need to know the Lovely Bones storyline for this. This story is basically the movie storyline, Stiles' way.  
> Disclaimer; Me no own, you no sue. Please.

I remember being really small, too small to see over the edge of a table. There was a snow globe with a plastic penguin inside wearing a red and white striped scarf around its neck. My dad was there, watching me. And I remember that the penguin inside the globe. He was all alone in there and I worried about him…My dad must have seen my face because the next thing I remember was that he crouched down next to me.

“Don’t worry, kiddo.” He told me. I turned to him, my hero and idol, with bright, glistening and wide brown eyes. “He has a nice life-he’s trapped in a perfect world.” He reached over and took the snow globe in hand, turning it upside down and then back upright. Artificial snowflakes danced around the scene as he flicked it again.

I remember being given a camera for my birthday; it was a starter kit for my little developing hobby of mine. Wildlife photography. I would take snaps of beautiful flowers and insects that would dance around me. I used to use up about three rolls of film per month until my mum told me to slow down with my eager photo taking. I wasn’t happy about it, but I did. At least my photo quality got better per photo.

I imagined that when I was older though that I would be by my dad’s side, working on crimes with him. Slapping the silver bracelets on the bad guy and laughing as he is shoved in the back of the car. I imagined leaning against the door with a doughnut and a coffee, sharing a laugh with my dad by the cruiser. I imagined that when I was older, I would take a trip around the world for a little while, tracking wild elephant and rhino’s and snapping them in a freeze shot of one small space on the winded roll inside the little plastic box.

But for now, I’d have to make do with Grace Tarking down the street when she starts to go on her power walk every day. It’s just about as good as the elephants you would see around the warmer countries. Its strange memories you keep.

I remember going with Dad to the sinkhole out by the burned down Hale house and the cornfields that used to belong to the Connor’s farm before they moved. We pushed a fridge down the sinkhole once. My dad, Scott and I. I remember that I sat by the side and watched the fridge be submerged by the live mud, how the earth swallowed it whole.

And I remember the boy who lived down the road from me, Scott McCall. The kids at our school said he was weird, just like they did to me. Now I know from the beginning, no matter how stupid he acted majority of the time, he saw things that others didn’t.

And I remember the worst thing that ever happened to us as a family.

_“Mum…mum!” I was rushed from the room quickly by a crowd of men and woman. Some wearing long doctor’s coats, others wearing different coloured scrubs either pink, purple or blue. Defeat filled me, I knew what was coming. I also knew there was nothing I could do about it, that had been repeated over and over to me over the course of the past months. I collapsed down into one of the plastic seats that rubbed against every inch of unclothed skin available and left bright red marks as well as the uncomfortable inching._

_It had been an hour when I saw Dad charging hastily through the hospital doors, his face turning from panicked to one of despair. His frantic movements slowed as the air around him filled with sadness. I didn’t look up from my hands but the familiar clapping of his boots was a tell-tale sign he was coming towards me. I expected him to cry, to scream, to blame me, to ask why I didn’t call him. Instead, the now widow took me tightly in his arms and hugged me close for dear life. I took that as confirmation that it was okay to cry, so I did._

The day my mother stopped breathing, lying in her hospital bed. Now, the rest of that night was hard to remember. I think there may have been a few tubs of ice cream and a Star Wars movie or something, which was the most likely scenario. Apart from that, nothing.

I remember the light in my Dad’s eyes go out and they turned dark. Dark and hurt. He replaced the life full glint in his eyes with something else. The glint of the amber whiskey against the light of the day and the night. All the times my dad drank to forget the pain of my mother drifting away. It scared me.

We weren’t those people…those unlucky ones to whom bad things happened to for no reason. But this time caught me off guard. I was lucky enough though to have Scott with me and he had already been through the removal of one parent, so he helped me through a lot of it.

Melissa, Scott mother, predicted I would have a long and happy life because I had been through what I had and because I was the one by my mother’s side when she was gone. I looked in her deep brown eyes as she said that and I believed her with my heart and soul. Because she was Melissa McCall and she was right about everything. Well, except that one time.

My name is Stilinski, it’s Polish and weird but original; first name, Stiles…I was eighteen when I was murdered on December 6th, 2010.


	2. Bottled Boats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried throughout the entire trip to keep from shivering every time I felt someone’s gaze linger on my back. I was with a bunch of werewolves for god’s sake, I’m not gonna make a big deal out of nothing. Not when I have my new school right around the corner soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late updates lately, but I've got my final exam tomorrow. Food Technology. Wish me luck!

I laughed, though it wasn’t as careless as it was before. It still came with a smile if that was some type of achievement or constellation at all, I highly doubt it would be though. I tried throughout the entire trip to keep from shivering every time I felt someone’s gaze linger on my back. I was with a bunch of werewolves for god’s sake, I’m not gonna make a big deal out of nothing. Not when I have my new school right around the corner soon.

This was before the missing kids started appearing on milk cartons, or were feature stories on the daily news…It was back when people believed things like that didn’t happen. At least not to them. Besides, there were bigger things I needed to worry about. So, unfortunately, that went brushed under the rug and I’m ashamed to say it did. I should have paid more attention.

School rolled around fairly quickly two days later, the weekend passed and we were in our final week of school before we moved up to the colleges and universities. I was still preparing for my big move from California to Washington, joining the grand university for the FBI. Gripping the shoulder strap over my bag, I wandered through the halls with Scott on my side when my eyes landed on the beautiful strawberry blonde heading our way.

Lydia Martin had always captivated me. She walked with confidence and an air of beauty that rolled of her from her core. She was beautiful, thin and petite with delicate, very pale skin and glowing green eyes. Her long strawberry-blonde hair bounced in the air as she walked, not a single strand out of place. She flaunted her beauty with a deep blue dress stopping an inch above the knees and displaying her long and slender, smooth legs. Her matching felt heels gave her a few more inches on her hight but she was still very short in height. She looked to us, wiggling her fingers in a snarky little wave before looking away and striding past them when both Scott and I gave her a smile back in greeting. I watched her back as she walked away, saddened.

Everyone knew of my crush on Lydia. I didn’t bother to hide it. What’s the point? Why cause drama? I knew, though, no matter of my long plan of becoming her husband, she would never like me. Not in the way that I liked her. She was an American beauty, and I was the American loser, the American psycho at one point. In truth, she doesn’t know I exist in the world of romance. But I could handle that. As long as she was happy, I would be too.

But I wasn’t safe. A man in my small town, my street, was watching me. If I hadn’t been so distracted I would have realised something was wrong. ‘Cause that sort of thing gives me the skeevies. Scott can vouch for that. Unfortunately, I was too busy thinking about werewolves, werecyotes, chimaeras. Dread doctors and the length of Lydia Martin’s eyelashes, as well as the creepy, looks Mr O’Dwyer gives me every time I walk in a room.

It wasn’t Mr. O’Dwyer, by the way. Although he does look kid of suspicious. But Mr. O’Dwyer never hurt anyone. Mr O’Dwyer’s daughter died a year and a half after I did. She had leukemia, but I never saw her in my heaven. I just hope she got here. She was a good kid.

My murderer was a man from our town. Our street, to be more accurate. I took his photo once as he talked to my parents about his border flowers. I was aiming for the bushes when he got in the way…he stepped out of nowhere and ruined the shot.

He ruined a lot of things.

One thing he didn’t ruin though was the moments shared between my dad and I. He had his work as his life and hobby and photography was kind of mine aside school. However, there was something my Dad and I still did together. Bottled ships. A secret between him and I. Not even Scott knew.

We would spend hours overnight looming over a glass bottle in the middle of the workbench in the basement we hid in, using tweezers to make parts of the ship and put them properly in the bottles. It was exciting, pushing the ship through the open neck of the bottle. I never knew what really enthralled me about it but I found it so interesting. Even after everything supernatural happened and I grew up to the ripe old age of eighteen years old, we still continued with the bottle making and kept it close to our hearts like a sacred event between us both.

I sat back in my stool once, watching him with my chin in the palm of my hand as he focused on fixing the ship.

“Melissa’s got a crush on you.” I remember remarking. Around that time, Scott’s dad had just come back and was looking and planning to stick around for a while for Scott. I had been confused for quite a while for Mr McCall to have hated me and my dad so drastically. Not that cared really. It was just curiosity. Mr McCall was a horrific person, I could see that on him and so could Scott. But I did mention I was curious, didn’t I? So I did some digging and found out a little pot of gossip gold hidden in the big brains of Miss Melissa McCall.

“Does she now?” I’ve told him this so many times before but he either never listens, doesn’t believe me or it’s a mix of both situations. I hate it when he does this like he does, it’s obvious. He feigns interest again like he always does. With eyes still solid on the boat, he perks his ears up like always. But he’s never listening to me.

“Yeah. And that’s even after she knows what you’re like.” I scoffed. “At least she doesn’t know you can do this.” I gestured widely to the shelves of boat lined up in neat little rows on the wooden shelves behind us all. I sighed again, dropping my head back into my palm and held it up by the elbow. “Did mum know before she married you? About your obsession?” At the word of my mother, my dad stopped short.

It didn’t scare me, this happened every time. One of us would bring up my mum in a conversation and one of us would freeze or flinch or even wince. It was like, even after so many years, she couldn’t go away. She was always there. Waiting for something. And it didn’t make me feel warm or happy when I felt another person in the room beside my dad or myself. It made me…shiver. It was cold. Deathly cold. Like a warning. I guess I should have taken it as one at the time but I have hindsight now. And I believed Melissa but Melissa was wrong.

“Stiles,” My dad once looked up from the boat hidden inside its glass casing and straight at me with sad eyes. “hobbies are healthy. They teach you things.” I scoffed again, mockingly. What could building a boat teach you? “Like if you start something you finish it.” My eyes wandered to the shelves once again. “You don’t stop until you get it right- you start over again and you keep on going as long as you have to, that’s the way it is, normal. You know, you’re grandfather taught me to do this and now I’m teaching you. We’re creating something here. For us. Something special.” He told me earnestly. I smiled gently.

“I know.” I told him. He told me that speech a multitude of times before and I never really took it seriously if I was quite honest. It was just a load of words to me though some of it did make me take my photography a bit more seriously. My dad smiled back at me, happily.

“Ready?” He steadied the boat. I took the string in hand. Though making the boats was something I dreaded half the time as it was boring as hell, this was the best part. “Now hold her steady…Okay, shipmate. Take it away!” Gently, I pulled the thread out of the bottle’s neck. The masts rose with it, revealing the delicate paper sails and a tiny clipper ship. But it rose magnificently and it looked gorgeous. He looked straight at me, eyes glistening. “Now that’s a thing of beauty.” No matter what happened, no matter where I went, I was always my father’s son. I smiled back. “C’mon – let’s go.”


End file.
